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And instead of clearing his mind, the hot water only seemed to sharpen his memories of seeing Linnea again. The flush that had risen to her cheeks when he'd entered, the way her eyes had widened momentarily before she'd schooled her features into the mask of chancellor. The scent of her—gods, her scent had nearly undone him the moment he'd stepped into that office.

But behind her desk, dressed in those formal silver robes, she was every inch the Crestek chancellor—the enemy his people had fought for generations. She’d looked so unlike the passionate female who’d insisted he claim her.

He sank deeper into the water, letting it cover his mouth. He didn't know what Linnea expected of him in this role—diplomat, spy, trophy to prove Crestek dominance? But he knew what he expected of himself. Strength. Resolve. The discipline to resist both the stone city's temptations and its chancellor's allure.

No matter how his body responded to her presence or how these luxuries tried to seduce him, he could not forget that he was Dothvek. His heart belonged to the sands, and there it would remain.

"Ambassador," he tasted the foreign word as he rose from the water. "Play the part, complete the mission, return home."

Water cascaded from his body as he stood, droplets pattering against the stone floor. In that moment, he made a vow to himself: he would be the perfect ambassador—cold, efficient, and utterly impenetrable.

Especially to the one woman who threatened to breach all his defenses with nothing more than a look.

ChapterThirteen

"The Dothvek ambassador hasn't left his quarters since his arrival yesterday," K’Nar reported, his voice perfectly neutral though Linnea detected a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "He's refused all offers of tours through the city and barely touched his breakfast this morning.”

Linnea nodded, fingers drumming against the polished surface of her desk as she gazed out the window at the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the city square. The colors of the fabric swags had dulled in the fading light, no longer vibrant but muted, like her expectations.

"I'm not surprised," she said, though a small part of her had hoped that Zexx would adapt to his role, that his duty would overcome his obvious distaste for their city.

Her mind drifted traitorously back to the Dothvek village—to flickering lantern light casting shadows on tent walls, to the heady scent of night-blooming flowers mingling with woodsmoke, to the warmth of golden skin beneath her fingertips.

She shook her head sharply, banishing the images. That night had been a moment of weakness, something that should never have happened and that no Crestek could ever discover. A scandal like that would shatter the fragile trust she'd built with the council, especially as the first female chancellor.

Then why had she insisted on bringing Zexx to the city? Why risk everything she'd worked for over what had been nothing more than a desert fling?

Because it wasn't just lust, a small voice whispered in her mind. It was more.

She swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. Whatever she might have felt didn't matter now. Zexx had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her beyond the most frigid diplomatic relations—and perhaps not even that, given his self-imposed isolation.

"The water reclamation project in the eastern quarter is behind schedule again," K’Nar continued, consulting his notes. "And there have been seventeen violations of the new commerce ordinance in the market square this week alone. The enforcement officers are requesting additional—"

She barely heard him, her thoughts still circling around the Dothvek one floor below. Had she dragged him from his home against his will? The realization sat like a stone in her stomach. She had used her position to satisfy her own selfish desires, convincing herself and the council it was for diplomatic purposes.

The scent of ink and parchment filled her nostrils as K’Nar shuffled his papers, the scratching of his stylus against the surface oddly grating.

"—and the artisans' guild is petitioning for an extension on their tax—"

"K’Nar," she interrupted, a plan forming in her mind. "I need you to arrange something."

He looked up, startled. "Of course, Chancellor. What do you need?"

"I want to host the Dothvek ambassador for dinner in my quarters tonight." The words tumbled out before she could reconsider them.

K’Nar's eyebrows shot up. "A diplomatic dinner? I'll arrange for the council members to—"

"No," she said firmly. "Just the ambassador and me."

His mouth thinned to a disapproving line. "Chancellor, protocol dictates—"

"I need to discuss sensitive matters with the ambassador," she said, injecting authority into her voice. "And I want my quarters transformed for the occasion." She took a deep breath. "Make it look like the inside of a Dothvek tent."

K’Nar's stylus clattered to the floor. "A... tent, Chancellor?"

"Yes. And send the chef to me directly. I'll need to discuss a special menu."

He bent to retrieve his stylus, his movements stiff with poorly concealed shock. "As you wish, Chancellor," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Though I confess I don't know what a Dothvek tent looks like."